Posts Tagged ‘Things that make me better’

Diets. Meh.

Posted January 26, 2012 Fitness 6 Comments

Diets.

Meh.

Diets suck.

Oh wait…I’m suppossed to be living a “life change,” not a diet.

But, you know what?  That’s bullshit.

I didn’t change my life.  I mean, not completely.  Not yet.

I still want to eat bread & butter like it’s my job.  I think anything I eat after midnight has no calories.  I still think peanut butter is the goo of the gods and that cantalope is complete crap.

None of that is going to change overnight…or even anytime soon.

I mean, really…who the hell wakes up one morning and goes, “HOLY FUCK!  I no longer want to eat movie theater popcorn or french fries!  I can’t stand the sight of cookies!  If I don’t get a plate full of spinach right now I’m going to die!”

 

 

"This is going to be the best freaking thing I eat all day!!! Hmmm, how many calories in just one pea?"

 

Um, no one.  No one says that.  Ever.

And who wants to be like that!?

{Dude, if you even thought the answer might be me, you obviously have no idea how much I lust after movie theater popcorn.  Me and movie theater popcorn are bffs and if you try to take it away from me I might get stabby.  No joke…I once tried to go a whole movie without it and I left the theater in a cold sweat.  Crying.  Possibly with full on detox symptoms.}

I definitely don’t want to be like that…mostly because I think I would go crazy.  Not that healthy food drives me over the edge, but completely illiminating food from my diet does.  (Again, not even kidding.  When I tried to do Atkins I nearly killed my husband.  With bacon.)  Maybe one day, down the line, I will think that the plate of spinach looks more appealing than the burger.  That’d be awesome!  But, I can’t just force that breakthrough.  That’s a battle that has to be fought.  And when it’s won, hopefully it will make that spinach taste even better.

My point:  I don’t like diets, though I’m all for trying to eat better.  It’s a difficult thing to create better eating habits. I’m still trying though, just as long as I don’t have to give up the popcorn.

That you can take from my cold dead buttery hands.

 

I’m Free!

Posted January 14, 2012 Life, Parenting 4 Comments

 

I’m free!  I’m free!  I’m free!

I’m smack dab in the middle of a kid-free weekend and I’m loving it.  I love my babies to pieces, don’t get me wrong, but I haven’t had a full 48 hours of plain old “vacation” time with just my husband sense maybe they were babies.

I’m really not trying to rub it in, but it’s so, so amazing.  {Okay, maybe I am just a little bit.  Sorry about that.} {Well, not really sorry so much as feeling a little guilty about being a bitch.} {Well, maybe not so much feeling guilty as wishing that I could brag about it more…But I do feel bad that you aren’t on a trip right now yourself.}  {Unless you are in fact on a trip, and it involves a Caribbean beach…If that’s the case than I hate you.}

Why am I enjoying myself so much?  I’ll tell you why:

 

*   I have not had to tell anyone to stop fighting.  Or stop hitting.  Or stop crying.  Or stop name calling.  Or stop flailing.  Or stop yelling.  Or stop pouting.  Or stop anything else that is highly irritating.

*   I will not have to wake up until I feel like it.  My lazy ass will stay in bed for as long as possible – and will most likely end only because I am hungry and I want breakfast and I want someone else to make it for me.

*   I could hop from winery to winery without hearing “Moooooom, I’m bored!” Or “Moooom, I have to pee!”

*   When I got pulled over by the county Sherrif (not because I was at the aforementioned winery, but because I have a lead foot) I did not have to get the double whammy of a kid guilt trip.  {Also, no ticket!  Woohoo!}

*   I could play a game of pool without somebody taking my stick and either A) knocking out a window, B) making a hole in the wall, or C) sticking it in someone else’s eye.

*   I don’t have to drive any one anywhere unless at the end of the drive there is something in it for me.  And by something, I mean a nice adult dinner or more wine.  Not a birthday party for someone else or a sport practice.

*   I do not have to fight with anyone to go to sleep.  {Family: if this is difficult tonight, I’m so sorry.  Well, not so much sorry as……ummm, nevermind.}

*   I haven’t had to hide the free candy jar in our room from anyone.  And if I wanted to, I could eat them all for myself. And not have to share.  Myyyyyyy precious.

*   Nothing “Nick” or “Disney” has graced our hotel TV.  Playoff Football and Channing Tatum movies ftw!  {Okay, I only got away with the Channing Tatum movie because the husband was in the shower.  But, I’ll take it anyway.  Any. Day.}

*  I have pressed the buttons in the elevator.  Yes, I’m a big dork, and I like to do this, but my kids always do it for me, and now I get to press them myself!.  Whatever.  I like to press buttons.

 

Anyway, I think you get the point.

Mama is free for a bit and having fun!!!!

Can I get an AMEN!?!

Can I get a high five!!?

Can I get a woot woot!?!

Ahhhh, alright, I’ve bragged enough.  Time to go get 14 hours of sleep.

 

{Um, one more thing…could someone please just do me one little favor?  Tell my little buggers I love them and miss them and kiss ‘em on the head from Mommy.}

Peace out, suckas!

 

Crackalackin’

Posted January 11, 2012 Fitness 8 Comments

 

Grrr. After posting about yoga yesterday, I was nervous, but way excited to go back. But, of course, I didn’t make it. Sigh. Only, this time, it wasn’t totally all because of my last-minute-ness. I went to weight watchers before hand, and the meeting ran over. I didn’t even notice it til the class had already been going for 10 minutes. Sigh.

Off to the machines I went instead.

Yay.

(You can read the lack of enthusiasm, right? Good.)

Climbing on top of the stair climber slash elliptical slash death machine, I set off for my half hour of working out – mostly just hoping that I wouldn’t pass out or die in a freak accident. Seeing as how I hadn’t done any kind of cardiovascular activity since before the dawn of time (aka: Christmas) I thought this fear was well warranted.

 

The Death Machine

 

Although, I must admit, it wouldn’t be too bad to have the headline of my obit read that I died on the treadmill. I mean, that’s got to count for something, right?

Anyway, cut to 5 hours in (or, in other words, 5 minutes) and I had this full-on inner crazy monologue running in my head.

“Yes, potential gym member on a tour, that is me blasting the Lupe Fiasco at volumes to which would make small children cry. My bad.”

“Yes, gym cleaning lady, that is me breathing so hard that you did a double take. Yes, it is a huge feat for me to actually keep my lung inside my chest.”

“Yes, neighboring stair-climber, that just may have been my sweat that hit you in the face. It has a mind of its own, you know!”

“Yes, row in front of me, that loud cracking sound you heard was indeed the sound of my knee threatening a revolt and almost collapsing in on me. Music to your ears, no!?!”

I think at this point I had just about lost my cool. And consequently, this is the point in the post in which I totally stop being funny and get real fucking serious. Bare with me for a moment.

For the first time in my life, while on that machine, I was scared while exercising. My knees buckled on me 4 times. Four freaking times. That is some serious shit. I’ve been a “big girl” for a while, but I could always climb my ass on top of an elliptical and bang out a half hour workout with out much of an issue. And now my knees are under so much pressure that they simply can’t handle the load anymore. After so many years of this pressure, and after so many miles of work, they’ve simply given up.

Seriously, this really scares me. Like, for real, for real. I’m thoroughly full of fear. I’m kinda at the “I’m about to cry” point. And I so don’t want to cry anymore.

There is a part of me that doesn’t even want to put this on the blog. First of all, it’s not at all funny. Well, I guess some of it is funny. But the rest of it is only funny is you’re an asshole. (And I know you guys are not at all assholes.)

Second of all, it means that I am admitting to the issue. And that then means that I really have to do something about it. And that then means that I have to try even though I’m fraught with “IfITryAgainIMightFailAgainAndthatMightBeCrushing…Again” syndrome. Who the hell likes that? Not this girl. This girl is almost paralyzed by it.

But what’s the other option, really? To keep going this way? To keep slooooooowly putting the weight on? To sloooooooowly creep my way to diabetes and high blood pressure and depression? (Really, it’s a miracle that none of this is an issue yet.) Is that what I want for my life? For my kids or my husband? For me?

Um, in a two words: Hells. No.

Cause I’m fucking awesome, in case you didn’t know.

So, the only option is to try. To keep trying. To push myself out over the ledge (gulp) and hope that there is a net under me that not only catches me while I’m falling, but also bounces me back up.

Okay, I wanted to end this with something witty or funny or a grand closing statement. But, at this point, I think if I take the time to craft that, I won’t publish any of this, and I really really really need to publish this. So, sorry about my douche-canoe-y-ness, okay?

Click.  Publish.  Nerves.

(Wait, there is actually something! When I was spell checking this, Open Office totally knew that douche-canoe-y-ness was spelled wrong. The whole thing. High five Open Office. High fucking five.)

 

Bullheadedness

Posted January 5, 2012 Parenting 7 Comments

 

I go back and forth with my daughter often on how she isn’t always right about everything. Once a day, at a minimum I’d say.

It’s really freaking annoying, actually. The girl is as stubborn as the day is long. She could be disproved emphatically, yet will still never, ever, admit to it. Or, for that matter, even admit that there is a possibility that she may be wrong. It’s infuriating, to say the least.

Me: “Hey look, that cloud looks like a whale.”

Her: “No it doesn’t.”

Me: “Um, okay. It does to me.”

Her: “Your wrong. It’s a dolphin.”

 

Me: “The days are getting longer now!”

Her: “No they aren’t.”

Me: “Yeah, they actually are since it’s winter solstice.”

Her: “Yeah, but it’s still dark right now, so that’s what counts to me, so I don’t think it’s longer.”

 

Me: “The practice starts at 4.”

Her: “No it doesn’t.”

Me: “Yeah, it does, it’s on the calendar.”

Her: “But it usually starts at 5, and Jenny told me it starts at 5.”

Me: “Okay, but they sent me a paper that said it starts at 4 today.”

Her: “But it doesn’t start at 4. It starts at 5. You’re wrong.”

 

Me: “The sky is blue.”

Her: “It’s not at all blue. It’s actually sky blue.”

 

Grrrrrraaaaaahhhhhh!!

You get the point, right? Pretty much: I say something, she disagrees, then I’m left wanting to scream into pillows because she is only 9 and I know that I have a long, long, long, looooooong ways to go before I can finally start being right again. (My Mom wasn’t “right” until I was about 20 or so. So sorry, Mom. I get it now. Thanks for not punching me in the face. I really appreciate that.)

Anyway, tonight we were helping her younger sister do a presentation on a folktale. Last night, after reading a few similar ones, we picked an African one about an elephant to help her with. The only probably was that some of the stories were blending together and we wanted to make sure the younger sister had her facts straight.

 

This is the Elephant. Do you see banana leaves?

 

Cut to older sister, “the story she choose ended with the elephant wrapping it’s trunk in banana leaves.”

I say, “No, it didn’t. That was the other elephant one.”

“Yes, it did.”

“No it didn’t.”

“No, Mom, it was this one.”

“No, Sara, it wasn’t.”

“Yes. It was.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t.”

“You’re wrong. It was.”

“OMG, Sara. Do you think that there’s a chance you could be wrong?”

“No. It was this one.”

“Okay!” (Something is slammed onto the counter, or my hands fly up in the air, or possibly both.) “You’re totally right. I’m totally wrong. Even though I was the one sitting at the computer, reading the story to you all and looking at it the whole time, I have no idea what I’m talking about. It ended with the banana leaves. You win.”

(My husband, at this point, interjects and reminds me how much I hate it when I give in this way. I want to do this in the heat of the moment, but later I regret it. It does nothing to make me feel better, and it lets her get away with bullheadedness and no lesson.)

“Okay, no, I take it back. You’re wrong Sara. And I’m going to pull it up right now and show you that you’re wrong. And when I do show you – that you’re wrong – you’re going to owe me an apology and going to have to admit that you are, in fact, sometimes wrong, and not right all the time.”

(All of that last bit was totally said through gritted teeth and with minimal breathing. Also: I have no idea how I did it with out cussing. Or, I did cuss, but at the time I was in such a blindingly hot rage of fury that I blacked out those parts. That sounds more likely.)

Then I slap open the laptop,

pull up the story,

zoom to the end….

 

Mother. Fucker.

 

“Um.

Yeah.

So,

you’re right.

He put banana leaves on his trunk.”

 

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I KNEW IT! DIDN’T I TELL YOU?! I KNEW IT WAS THIS STORY! I KNEW I WAS RIGHT!”

 

*Okay, God.

I hear you.

Thanks for the lesson.

Right now.

Great timing.

Really.

Thanks.

So flippin’ much.*

 

Instead of cursing to the heavens, I say, “Yep, I owe you an apology – and I will show you how it’s done. Sara: You were completely right and I was completely wrong. I am more than willing to sit here and swallow my pride and admit my mistake.”

“Hahahahaha….You’re totally in pain, Mom.”

You have no idea kid, no freaking idea at all.

A Healthy Advent Calendar

Posted November 28, 2011 Fitness No Comments

 

I love a good advent calendar.  The chocolate filled ones are the bees knees, in particular.  Mmmmm, milk chocolaty goodness….

But, while it tastes scrumdiddlyumptious, it is not at all helpful for keeping the pounds at bay.  In a time when I overindulge at every turn, I really don’t need another sweet every day.

 

Bad chocolate. Bad.

 

Instead, this year I’ll be putting the Fitness Tree advent calendar to the test!

The girls over at Shrinking Jeans have a challenge for us all – a healthy advent calendar.  One of the bloggers that play along with them – Mary – had this great idea and was kind enough to share.  The ladies have picked it up and are now asking us all to run with it – literally.

Or yoga.  Or bootcamp.  Or walk.  Or whatever it is that you do that will keep you from fluffing up like the man in the big red suit.

It’s super simple.  Go to the Shrinking Jeans post and read.  Print out the spiffy advent tree printable and buy some stickers.  Then, everyday, move your booty.  However long you see fit, in what every way you see fit.  And after you do so, relive your Lisa-Frank-lovin’ middle school awkward years and bling up that tree with your very best glittery puffed up stickers.   (Cause putting awesome stickers on an advent calendar is just as good as chocolate.  No, I’m being serious.  It is.  No, really.  Stickers are the bomb.  Shut up.)

I think this will really help me stay on track this Christmas season.  Let me know if you do it too – we can share in the stickery fun together!

 

Before I Volunteer Again…

Posted November 22, 2011 Life 2 Comments

 

My friend sent me this the other day:

 

 

Does she know me well, or what?!

Funny thing is that it came the day after I had said “no” to something and lived through it.

Well, several somethings in fact.

I enjoyed the Advent Workshop at church, with out having to volunteer my craft making skills.

I dropped my kids off with out having to contribute to the baked items that the PTA was collecting.

I breezed right on past the parent volunteers at Grandparents day on my way out to lunch and a movie.

It was lovely.  All of it.  And I don’t feel one bit ashamed or guilty.

Because I fundraise, buy, sell, plan, organize, lend my time, give my skills and generally pimp myself out for the greater good plenty, thank you very freaking much.

And everyone deserves some time out every once in a while.  We all deserve a day of rest or fun or goofing off or blessed, blessed sleep.

Lock yourself in your house and turn off the phone.  Make plans with friends who will verbally berate you if you bail.  Set a goal to watch every Twighlight back to back.  Just stop yourself before you volunteer again.

 

Giving Thanksgiving

Posted November 13, 2011 Life, Mom Media No Comments

 

I know bloggers can sometimes be catty and bitchy and greedy and down right obnoxious.

But sometimes they do something bigger than all of the internet drama.  And it makes me feel a little ray of hope that we are not all just egotistic idiots here for clicks and fans.

 

 

Scary Mommy has done such a thing.  She is matching up people who don’t have enough money for Thanksgiving with those that are lucky to have an abundance.

Let them eat turkey!

Boobs and Miss Representation

Posted November 11, 2011 Life, Mom Media, Parenting 4 Comments

 

I was watching “Once Upon A Time” on ABC with my daughters the other day.  I figured it might be okay for the 3 of us to enjoy together, as it is roughly based on fairy tales.  (Honestly, in hindsight, I probably should have known better, but I digress.) In my defense, the show was pimped in mini blurbs and commercials on Disney Channel – so figured it would be okay for roughly the same audience.  Knowing that it was network tv, during primetime, I expected a couple of words I wasn’t a fan of, but I wasn’t expecting to be hit over the head with this one thing.

Boobs.

Okay, it’s true, I’m all for the boobs.  Being an avid breast cancer fighter I talk about them a lot, but there is a time and place for everything.  And I didn’t expect this time or this place to be this….well, boobalicious.

“Mom, look at her BOOBS!  They’re HUGE!  Like big oranges that are popping out of her dress!”

Um, yeah, I couldn’t really argue, because they really, really were.  The fairy had a pair that could barely be contained.  Even the wicked witch at one point had a … uhhh… cup that overfloweth.  We were yelling at the tv, “Get some clothes on, Lady!”

Really?  Do I need that much boobage in my face in a fairytale story?  If I’m being fair, honest-to-goodness fairtales are of the same variety.

 

 

Jasmin?  Mid-drift baring off the sholder top.  Ariel?  Strappless bikini top.  And is that a whole lot of cleavage I spy on Belle?

All of this makes me wonder what my girls are learning from media.  Do they think boobs are key for a baby’s nourishment, or do they think they are “sexy.”  Do they think they need to show off theirs if they want to find a prince?

You should know that I’m not at all a media nazi.  I allow my daughter to say the word “boobs,” so that should speak to my not-so-prudishness.  We have moved out of the rated-G-only phase of life.  Heck, I still believe that those princesses still have timeless tales to tell.

I just think we need to have a conversation with our girls.  An ongoing conversation. Do they think anyone actually looks like one of those princesses?  Should you sit around waiting for your prince to come?  Can the princess save the day without the help from the guy?  Will the princesses eventually be Queens and rule the land?  Do we really need this much boob?!

To that end, I have an assignment for you all.  Tomorrow, at 11 a.m. on the OWN network, a wonderful film will be playing that speaks to all of these issues.  Miss Representation is a film that “challenges the media’s limited and often disparaging portrayals of women and girls, which make it difficult for women to achieve leadership positions and for the average woman to feel powerful herself.”

Some of you may be thinking, “Hell yeah, womanhood, I’ll be watching this bad boy for sure!”  And others may be thinking, “Okay crazy feminist liberal wacko.”   To this I say, just watch the movie.

When you do, come back here and tell me what you think.  Are we sending the right messages?  Are we representing women accurately?

Do we really, for goodness sake, need this freaking much boob?

 

 

Movement is a gift

Posted November 9, 2011 Fitness No Comments

 

 

I just wanted to share something small with you tonight – a quote from a woman in my meeting today.  This lady started her weight loss journey at 400+ pounds.  She has a metal brace on her leg and uses a walker to help get around, but these things do not stop her!

We were celebrating her today, as she had lost 200 pounds and had walked farther than she ever had before.  She had this to say:

“Movement is a gift.  200 pounds ago I used to sit at my window and watch the world go by.  I couldn’t go out there and do like everyone else.  I just had to sit and watch it all happen – without me.  I couldn’t do anything.  Now, I can do too!  I can go out there and walk a mile! I am beyond thankful that I can now move...it is a gift that I cherish.”

Not only that, but right after the meeting she was down at the treadmills, walking away!  She got up on that machine, brace and all, and started moving forward.  This struck me.

I could use a little of this in my life.  It’s all too easy to complain, and whine, and bitch, and moan, and find excuses when it comes to work out time.  But, I can move…a lot!  I can dance with my kids!  I can do yoga!  I can walk 60 freakin’ miles!  How amazing is that!?!  After hearing her story, I’d say that I have a pretty darn good gift.

Now, to find more ways to put it to use…

Transformation Nation

Posted November 6, 2011 Fitness 2 Comments

 

I could really use a million dollars.  I could really use to lose 10% of my body weight.

So, with a deep sigh, but with elevated hopes of a great result, I’m turning to Dr. Oz.

 

 

(Side note before I go on – I’m sharing this just cause I want to.  Not because it’s “sponsored” or paid.  And not just because I think Dr. Oz has a fantastic name…even though he totally does.)

It’s pretty simple, really.  You take a health quiz (but woah nelly does Dr. Oz get all up in your personal business.  Cough*thereismentionofsex*Cough.) And you get a personalized report, fitness calendar, and place to track your progress.

Then you take 7 steps to not only qualify for the contest to win a million bucks, but to also get healthier.  Both of which would be lovely prizes.  (Imagine all the yoga classes I could sign up for! Gasp!  No really, I’m not being sarcastic this time.  I loves me some yoga.)

The steps include:

  1. Telling a friend.  (And if you are the “I enter into every social media contest I see” type, you’ll know that spamming just one of your friends isn’t too bad.  Heck, they might enter and win and you could strong arm them into a piece of the mil.  Score.)
  2. Weigh in.  This is the tricky part – you have to go to a Weight Watchers weigh-in to make it official.  You don’t have to stick around (but you can, for free, for one meeting) and you don’t have to pay any money.  You (I) just have to peel your (my) ass off the couch and go.
  3. Go get a check up.  I haven’t done this in just about forever.   HDL? LDL? Um, WTH?!  I guess I’d better go figure that out.
  4. Learn your family’s health history.  This is tricky if your family is the “don’t ask, don’t tell” type, but pry it out of them.
  5. Get more sleep.  Yes please.
  6. Assess your stress – take a quiz and get tips to lower it.  Sounds good.  Cause mama should probably have more means of dealing with it than reese’s peanut butter cups and margaritas.  I guess. If I have to.
  7. Take a quiz on your fitness level and get tips to get your ass in gear.  (I think I see Zumba in my future.)

You have lots of time to get these steps done.  To qualify for the prize you have to go down 10% of your body weight or get to a healthy bmi.  And they suggest you do it in 2 lbs/week increments.  Not crazy biggest-loser-style.  Amen.

I’m all in.  Will you join me?  If you do, and I win, I’ll be sure to throw a few bucks your way!

Maybe.

 

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